A Favorite of the Queen: The Story of Lord Robert Dudley and Elizabeth 1 (11 page)

And when they left the Abbey, among the cheering crowds Elizabeth thought she saw a woman, with a white and tragic face and mournful eyes, who stood out among the gaily cheering people because she did not cheer, because she was sad in the midst of all that gaiety.

Was it the sorrowing Duchess of Northumberland?

Elizabeth shivered. Here was another reminder of how close disaster could be to triumph.

A few weeks
later when winter had set in, many people waited in the cold streets to see another procession. This was in great contrast with the glittering spectacle of the Queen’s Coronation.

Bishop Ridley led this procession, and among those who walked behind him was Lord Robert Dudley.

Robert held his head high. He, who longed for excitement, was glad even of this; he appeared jaunty as he walked through the narrow streets. Even at the Guildhall, he could only shrug his powerful shoulders. It was what he expected. Ambrose, Guildford, and Lady Jane had already been condemned and returned to their prisons. It was his turn now. And what
could save one who had without doubt plotted against the Queen? It was useless to do anything but plead guilty.

It was no surprise to Lord Robert that when he left Guildhall for his journey back to the Tower, the blade of the axe should be turned toward him. He had been condemned to that terrible death which was reserved for traitors: to be hanged, cut down alive, and dis emboweled.

But Robert was by nature optimistic. It would be the axe for him. The son of a Duke would not die the ignoble death of common traitors.

So back to his cell in the Beauchamp Tower he went to await the summons to Tower Hill. But on the way he was aware of women in the crowd who had come to gaze at the prisoners. He noted their looks of sympathy and interest. Life in a dismal cell could not rob him of his powers to charm.

“What a handsome young man!” it was murmured. “So young to die.”

And it was Robert whom their eyes followed.

There was one woman who watched him. She longed to call out his name as he passed; yet she hid herself, fearing that the sight of her there might distress him. How noble was his carriage, she thought; and how careless he seemed of his fate! That was what she would expect of her proud Robin.

As the procession passed on, Jane Dudley fell swooning to the ground.

There was perturbation
at Court. The Queen had, after showing favor to Edward Courtenay, turned against him. Some said this was due to her discovery of the profligate habits in which he had indulged during his stay in the Tower. He was without doubt a libertine and could not be so enamored of an aging woman as he pretended to be. Others, more knowledgeable, believed the change in her manner toward this young nobleman could be explained by the secret conferences she had had with the Spanish
ambassador, and the fact that Philip, the son of Emperor Charles and heir to vast possessions, was a widower.

Noailles, the French ambassador, secretly sought out the Princess Elizabeth.

“Your Grace has heard that the Queen considers marriage with the Prince of Spain?” he asked.

“There have been such rumors.”

“Your Grace must know that a union with Spain would be most unpopular in England.”

“The Queen is mistress of the country and herself. She will marry when and whom she pleases.”

“There are many people in this country who would not tolerate a Spanish marriage.”

“I know nothing of them.”

“Does Your Grace know why the Queen has turned from Courtenay? It is because she suspects where his affections really lie.”

In spite of Elizabeth’s control her eyes brightened. “I do not understand Your Excellency.”

“It is Your Grace of whom he is enamored. He is so far gone in love for you that he is ready to throw away an immediate crown for the hope of a future one.”

Elizabeth saw the danger. “I know nothing of this,” she said.

“Yet others do. They are saying that if Courtenay married you, and you succeed to that for which you have a claim, the people would be happier than they would be to see a Spaniard the Queen’s husband.”

Her heart was beating fast. Again she heard the Abbey service and the cry of the peers: “God save Queen Elizabeth!”

She thought then of the woman she had seen in the crowd, of the Dudley brothers at this moment awaiting the penalty of ambition which had failed.

Noailles went on: “Courtenay has powerful friends in Devon and Cornwall. Your Grace, a great future lies before you.”

I am crossing a chasm on a flimsy bridge, she thought. Walk with balanced care and I shall find a throne awaiting me; but one false step and down … down to disaster, down to a cell in the Tower, and the block.

Noailles wished to prevent the Spanish marriage at all costs because it was against the interest of France that it should take place. But would he wish to see Elizabeth on the throne? Indeed no! His plot would be to ferment trouble which would remove Mary and Elizabeth and leave the way clear for Mary Queen of Scots. Her lips were scornful. The French ambassador must think her a fool.

As soon as he left her, Elizabeth sought an audience with the Queen. Mary granted this, but as Elizabeth was kneeling before her she saw that Mary’s attitude toward her was no more friendly than it had been on their previous meeting. The Spanish ambassador, knowing the unpopularity of the match he was trying to make for the son of his master and the Queen of England, was aware that there were some factions who would prefer to put Elizabeth on the throne and allow her to marry Courtenay. If such a thing should come to pass, England would once more be a Protestant country. Renard was therefore urging the Queen to send Elizabeth to the block. He was sure that the Princess was concerned in plots against the Queen, and he was determined to trap her and thus override the Queen’s sentimental feelings for her sister. But the girl, for all her youth and seeming innocence, was more cunning than those ambassadors. Always she eluded them.

Renard had warned Mary, and the Queen, as she watched her kneeling sister, remembered those warnings.

“Your Majesty,” said Elizabeth, “I crave leave to retire to one of my country houses.”

“Why so?” asked Mary.

“My health is failing. I need the fresh country air.”

“You appear to me very healthy.”

“I suffer much, Your Majesty. In the quiet of the country I could study the books Your Majesty has set me to study. I feel that in the quiet of Woodstock or Hatfield I could come to an understanding with the truth.”

“You will stay here,” said the Queen, “that I may know what plans you make and whom you have about you.”

Elizabeth was dismissed. She left the Queen’s apartment with much apprehension, knowing that she was living through one of the most critical periods in a lifetime of danger.

Strangely enough the
Spanish ambassador came to her aid though unwittingly.

The entire country now knew that the Queen was favorably considering a match with Spain. There was disquiet throughout the land, for the English hated the Spaniards; and there was much talk of the virtues of Elizabeth.

The Queen had stubbornly refused to acknowledge her sister’s legitimacy. It seemed that she was afraid to do this because the people might decide that a younger, legitimate daughter who was a Protestant would be a better ruler for England than the elder, Catholic daughter of Henry the Eighth. But the real reason simply was that if she herself were legitimate, Elizabeth could not be, for the only way in which Elizabeth could be legitimate was by declaring her father’s marriage with Katharine of Aragon void. Therefore it was not possible for both of them to be legitimate.

The Spanish ambassador, wishing to precipitate matters, unwisely sought to implicate his old enemy Noailles. It would be a master stroke to have Noailles sent back to France and Elizabeth to the block at the same time. He accused Noailles of visiting Elizabeth’s chamber at night in order to plot against the Queen.

This was a ridiculous accusation and the plot was exposed, for not even Elizabeth’s enemies could find a case against her.

On her knees before the Queen she cried: “I beg of Your Majesty never to give credit to the evil tales which are spread concerning me, without giving me an opportunity to prove myself guiltless.”

Mary believed sincerely in justice, and Elizabeth’s words were well chosen.

“My dear sister,” said Mary, “I am sorry that you have been misjudged. Take these pearls as a sign of my affection.”

Elizabeth accepted the pearls and was quick to take advantage of the situation. She lifted her eyes to her sister’s face and said: “Your Majesty is so good to me. I know you will give me leave to retire from Court that I
may live in quietness and hasten to do what Your Majesty would have me do. Give me your gracious permission to retire that I may study the books you have set me to study, the sooner that I may govern my thoughts and lead them whither Your Majesty would have them go.”

The permission was granted and, with great relief, Elizabeth retired from imminent danger.

There was one
way of escape from ever-threatening danger. Often she thought of it; always she rejected it.

The King of Denmark had offered his son, Philibert Emmanuel, the Duke of Savoy, as a husband for her. Spain favored such a match, and therefore it received due consideration by the Queen.

While she lived her quiet life in her house at Ashridge, Elizabeth was filled with apprehension. If a stranger rode up she would be on the alert for a messenger from the Queen bringing a summons for her to appear at Court, which might be followed by imprisonment and death. Only by marrying a foreign Prince could she escape that constant fear. But to abandon fear was also to abandon her most cherished dream. As the Duchess of Savoy she would never hear those magic words which, perhaps next year, or the year after that, or in five or ten years’ time, could ring in the ears of the Princess Elizabeth: “God save Queen Elizabeth!”

No, here she was, and here she would stay. All her hopes were in England, and if at times she felt she would never succeed in climbing the slippery path which led to the summit of ambition, well then, she would rather fall in the attempt than give up the climb.